


Iron

by sloganeer



Series: 1, 2, 3, 4, tell me that you love me more [6]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Anniversary, Domestic Bliss, Husbands, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-10 21:37:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19912684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sloganeer/pseuds/sloganeer
Summary: David poured Marcy more sangria, letting the chunks of plum and apple—from his own trees!—fall into her glass. Stevie was on her way back with more beer and ice, and Alexis promised she’d bring Charlotte after a nap, but for now, it was just David and his mother-in-law.-This is year 6.





	Iron

“Your son fancies himself a blacksmith now.”

“I don’t know what that means, sweetheart.” 

David poured Marcy more sangria, letting the chunks of plum and apple—from his own trees!—fall into her glass. Stevie was on her way back with more beer and ice, and Alexis promised she’d bring Charlotte after a nap, but for now, it was just David and his mother-in-law, huddling under a picnic umbrella for shade, watching the men working in the backyard, the lot of them refusing to be the first one to ask for a break from the sun.

“One of our potters—Gloria, the lady who made the mugs I sent you?—she has a friend who’s a blacksmith, and he was teaching a weekend class—iron-bending 101, I guess—so your son went and made me a fire poker.” 

He picked up the long twisted wrought iron poker from where it was leaning against his chair. Twirling it in his hand above his head, David felt powerful—he could admit it. Sitting back, he watched Patrick carrying the wheelbarrow, Ted with a bag of sand on his shoulder, and Clint leaning against a shovel. “Which is why we needed a fire pit in our backyard, obviously.”

“I always said he needed another hobby,” Marcy said. “Baseball, guitar, theatre. He needs something that he does just for himself.”

David nodded. “I liked it more when I was his hobby,” he said and then shot a sheepish smile at Marcy, once he realised exactly what he had said. 

“David!” She took a big gulp from her glass, but she was smiling. David loved his mother-in-law.

"Where are your parents this weekend?" she asked, a not-so-subtle change of subject.

"Vancouver." 

"So close," Marcy said. 

"Yet so far away." He set his fire poker back in its place beside his chair—a sceptre to go with his throne. "Mom is filming a Hallmark Christmas movie." David turned to Marcy with a wicked grin. "She's playing the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come."

She looked shocked and pleased, exactly the reaction David anticipated.

"Wanna see pictures?" he asked.

"Of course!"

They settled back with a new distraction. David showed her Mom's costume and the pictures from Patrick's most recent game, as well as some new textile designs he was working on with a local weaver, and the rearranged back wall of the Apothecary. Out on the lawn, work continued without their gaze. Carting the piles of rock and gravel, which had been living too long in their driveway, to the backyard had taken the men most of the morning. They started early, to avoid the worst of the summer sun, but now it was noon, and even David was wearing short sleeves.

“Take it off, honey!” He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted at his husband. Marcy, loosened up with red wine on her lips, gave a cheery hoot.

Patrick looked up, eyes mysterious behind his sunglasses, and then he actually did it: he shook his hips in David’s direction and stripped his shirt off. Ted joined in, adding a raunchy musical score, while Clint just laughed at them.

“Don’t worry,” David told Marcy. “Once we get him another beer, we’ll get yours, too.”

David’s stalked across the lawn, shirtless, those old ripped jorts hanging low on his hips, showing off the elastic waist of his briefs, and while David was enjoying the view, Patrick hoisted himself up onto the porch railing, leaning over to demand a kiss. 

“Avert your eyes, Mom,” he said. 

David rolled his eyes, but Patrick was right, of course. He kissed David with all the heat of summer, with his tongue to soothe the burn, with his teeth because neither could bear to let go.

“I missed the show?” Stevie, stalking him from behind, kicked the leg of David’s chair and made them break apart.

“Hey, Stevie,” Patrick said, still clinging to the railing, and now David could see his eyes. Moony and soft, and not looking at Stevie at all. Not looking at anyone else but David.

“Are you done with the hard labour?” David asked. 

Patrick nodded. “We could take a break.” He leaned in for another kiss. With fingers in his sweat-matted curls, David dragged his husband over the railing and into his lap. 

“Stevie,” Marcy said, and over the beating of his heart, David could hear the scrape of her chair being pushed back. “Let’s get that ice into the freezer.”

“Ted,” Clint said from far away. “Let’s get the barbecue started.”

“David,” Patrick said, lips soft on his cheek. “Let’s stay right here.”


End file.
